SSAIS

Musings, short stories, dreams and diary entries. Basically whatever doesn't fit under 'articles' gets put here... 

May 22, 2018

She was never so delighted, the day she saw bubbles for the first time. Her life was admittedly a little one, but still. The bubbles were something else. A perfect sphere of multicoloured, light-reflecting, transparent glass-like qualities and on top of all that, it FLIES. Not like an airplane mind, nor a bird. It's more of a floaty sort of flying. How can something float on air?

She moved to bring one closer to her for inspection but low and behold, as soon as she touched the thing, it disappeared! A split second of astonishment came cross her face and even more astonishing was how quickly that gave way to glee. She let out a giggle, mouth wide open in a smile as she stared out at the floating mysteries in front of her. 

October 27, 2016

He was quite a character. Consigned to the small courtyard caught in between the ground floor of his owner’s apartment and that of their neighbours – the result of Bangalore’s contrivance of buildings old and new – he would pace up and down the nine square meters of concrete and pierce the evenings’ clamour with his erratic barks. 

“MARX! Keep it down will you!” His owner would exclaim from inside the house, peering into the courtyard through barred windows after what seemed an eternity. I’ve learnt that one’s threshold of noise differs widely from place to place. Parents the world over seem remarkably immune to the sounds of a child wailing. I’m not sure Marx’s household experienced noise – it felt like all was just sound to them. 

Call me crazy, but it felt as though Marx’s shrieks, reverberating as they did a...

May 16, 2015

I am sitting in a train, road to the city, and I hear the following conversation:

When the holidays arrive, I will choose my favourite books and I will read them - she says.

Since the academic year began, I have not read any book that I really like - he says.

Yes, it is very sad - she says.

Well, yes, that's true - he says, while he's looking down and the train stops at the next station.

I do not know their names nor their professions. Quite possibly they are high school or university professors. They seem well-trained people, with a restless intellect and desire to learn. However, they have to wait for the holidays to read their favourite books. What does the term "holiday" mean?

The people who are surrounding me seem to have fun and they show a glimmer of happiness while they use their phones and other electronic devices. What i...

January 21, 2015

We asked to be seated at the table by the window so that we might have a nice view of the ocean. Our waitress - a lady probably in her late fifties if not sixties, with fair skin and a frilly top who looked more like the owner of the establishment than a waitress - told us not to because it was dirty. She offered us a window-side table just two rows behind to which my aunt rolled her eyes. The rest of us were perfectly content with this and I made some small remark to the effect that this other table was quite alright and had as good a view of the ocean in any case. 

I ordered a glass of wine, my sister a lemonade and the rest got ice-water. I had ordered fish cakes and was looking forwards to tasting a new world pinot gris alongside them. When the waitress came back to serve us our drinks, her hands trembled fierce...

January 2, 2015

She had great big attentive eyes like a deer's. Hazel-coloured and wide open like a child's. The eyes of someone who is open to the world, receptive of all the little gusts of knowledge, wisdom and experience its winds and currents throw up to us as an offering. She would ask questions - all sorts - to anyone she happened to be with, seemingly content with their answer; or if not she'd ask another question, but never pester anyone with them. Enigmatic in the face of those who sought to understand her, place her into a social compartment of some sort - in reality she simply was a young girl curious about life. What brought her here to our little village no one knows. But all value her presence and a few would probably cry and veritably feel her absence if she were to leave one day. 

Not that she does anything remarkable. She s...

Please reload

© 2020 by Pierre Smith Khanna